


It's poetry night

by thelairoevie



Series: The Eevee Archives [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Drunken Writing, M/M, Metaphors for sex, Poetry, Sexual Language, awkward comparison of seasons to sex, flowery language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:00:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26120788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelairoevie/pseuds/thelairoevie
Summary: A poem that Martin wrote after one two many beers.
Relationships: technically Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: The Eevee Archives [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1896601
Kudos: 16





	It's poetry night

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is a special addition to another silly fic posted here __________.  
> I love Martin dearly, so I must make fun of him at every attempt.

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Nay, you are nothing of the summers I know.

There is no sweet bloom in you,

No sun kissing tangled bodies in a wide expanse of green.

I cannot compare thee because you are winter.

You are the chill that overtakes those supple blooms,

And leaves them to shatter on the slightest touch.

You are the frozen wind from which most men hide,

Locked away in wombs of brick and mortar,

Until the gentle summer comes again.

But I am no longer the flower hiding under frost,

Or the man who fears the reproach of winter,

For his mistakes made in Autumn.

I am the hunter! I seek solace in your icy depths

And the fall of virginal snow.

I know the tender secrets hidden under hoar frost,

Intimate as the trees lift their frozen skirts,

And when I grow tired I rest in mountain’s embrace.

Would you come back with me to the cabin?

Where you may drop the cloak of winter,

Where bare may we find ourselves by the crackling fire,

Pretending it is the sun’s rays.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Cormack, my best bro, who jumped at the chance to write a bad poem about sex despite being the least sexual or poetic man I know.


End file.
